


Fixing a Hole

by Anonymous



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Betrayal, Crying, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Gender Dysphoria, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Humiliation, Impregnation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Obsession, Oral Sex, Rape, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, delusions of grandeur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Paul wakes up with a cunt one morning, causing him an understandable amount of distress.This isn’t a love story, this is more of an unrequited obsession/infatuation.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 36
Kudos: 98
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really ship McLennon. I just thought the concept was really interesting, and that it would work the best with John rather than an original character or something.
> 
> Edit:
> 
> I know this is a horrible story. If this type of thing disgusts you, don’t read it! There are some people like reading this type of thing, but it’s not for everybody. Please save yourself the grief, it’s not worth it.

**1964**

  
  


It seemed that 1964 would be a very good year for the group. They hoped for national success, but now they were a worldwide phenomenon. They were getting girls by the truck-full, traveling the world, accumulating wealth. In every sense of the word, they’d made it.

The boys had noticed though, that for the past two days Paul had begun to act off. Miserable even. He put on a show for the cameras and press, but as soon as they returned to their rooms, he began to just deflate in on himself. They were getting worried.

On the evening of the second day, Paul asked John to speak with him in his room, pale faced. John followed him, concerned.

“John, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to talk about this to. I think I’m losing me mind.” 

“What is it, son?”

Paul tried to find the words, but it seemed like he was having a hard time getting them out.

“I don’t know, I don’t even know how to say it.” He said, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anybody, but I gotta, I can’... I know m’not seeing things...I gotta tell somebody...I don’t know who else to tell.”

“Tell me then, man. We’ve been worried ‘bout you.” John was getting increasingly nervous. Something dreadful must have happened. He’d never seen Paul this distraught. None of them were very touchy-feely, but they all cared for each other. “Did something ‘happen to ya?”

“I, I…” Paul’s face was pale as he looked at him, skin clammy. It seemed that he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I’ve got-”

“Spit it out, man. I can’ help ya if ya’ don’t tell me.”

“Fuckin’ I fuckin” Paul took a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, he had to force the words out of his teeth.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ _cunt_ , John.”

John’s mind stalled for a moment. What did he say? He must’ve horribly misheard.

“Eh?”

“I’ve, I’ve got a _cunt_. John.” His voice got higher in distress.

John erupted in laughter, doubling over and wheezing.

“Holy fuck! You really got me going!” John found it difficult to breathe or speak, roaring with laughter. “I can’t believe you’ve built this up... for _days_! That’s fuckin’ brilliant! Shit, Paul! Thought you was an awful actor! The way ya said it! You really got me going there!”

Another wave of laughter hit John. The buildup sold it. All of it. the bait and switch. He had to catch his breath to speak.

“Are we gonna break the news to the lads now? Oh god, they’re gonna love it. Holy fuck, I can jus picture their faces. I, I gotta get a straight face now. Hol’ on.” John tried to catch his breath again, face red from laughter.

John looked up, but his laughter dissipated when he saw Paul’s expression. He looked like he was in anguish, like he was about to start crying. Why wasn’t he laughing? Paul was a terrible actor, he couldn’t cry on command. This was getting very unsettling.

“You haven’t got a cunt, Paul. I’ve seen it, you’ve got no cunt.” John said, more level headed.

Paul paced around, growing increasingly irrational. He was tugging at his hair. It really did seem like he was going to cry. Paul didn’t cry. John had noticed he hadn’t taken a bird up to his room in a couple days, which was very strange for him.

“Hey, man. If you’re crackin’ under the pressure, we can get you ‘help.” John said, becoming more concerned. His tone was gentler by his standards. His comrade must be having some insane mental break. “You must be hallucinating.”

Paul let out a sound of exasperation, becoming delirious.

“I’m not fuckin’ crazy!” He shouted, then stopped pacing, considering his options. A thought seemed to have crossed his mind. It made him begin to shake, his eyes were tearing up from frustration and humiliation. It was the only way for John to believe him. “Fine, I’ll fuckin’ jus”

Paul dropped on the edge of the bed, and began undoing his trousers desperately.

“Hey man, you don’t need to do that.” John covered his eyes, trying to talk him down. Paul must be going through some deep shit. “I don’t want to see that.”

Paul ignored him, still struggling out of his trousers. He finally pulled them off, and tugged his pants down. He didn’t seem to be enjoying it. He seemed to be humiliated, but desperate for John to confirm his delusion.

Paul opened his long legs reluctantly, shame written on his face. He brought his legs up on the bed, leaning back slightly.

“See, I’ve got a fuckin’ cunt.” Paul cried, burying his face in his hands. “M’not fuckin’ crazy, John. I’m fuckin’ not.” he sobbed.

John hesitated to look, but his comrade was so distressed as to expose his junk to him. John needed to confirm that Paul was losing it so they could get him help.

When John made a quick obligatory glance, Paul’s face still in his hands, he had to do a double take.

John brought his face closer, his eyesight must be failing him.

Sure enough, in between McCartney’s shapely thighs, under his fluffy mass of dark pubic hair, was a little pink slit.

John was silent for a moment, gawking at it.

“Holy fuck, Paul.” Was all John could say. “H-How did this happen?”

Paul threw his hands up miserably, smiling sadly through his tears. It immediately dissipated.

“I don’t, I don’t fuckin’ know, John. I just woke up, an-” He buried his face in his hands.

“How do I even fix this?” Paul sobbed. He began to babble. “I’ll never fuck a bird again. I’ll never be able to get a girl to marry me. M’ gonna fuckin’ die alone. S’ over with Jane.”

“Hey, man, s’alright.” John said, trying to calm him down.

“No, it's not alright!” Paul cried. “You’re not the one with the fuckin’ snatch!”

“Well, what do you wan’ me to do about it?” Said John, becoming annoyed.  
  


Paul shrunk back down, face back in his hands.

“I, I dunno. M’sorry. I jus’ wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy. I dunno.” Paul said miserably, dejectedly.

John stared down at it. There was Paul’s pubic hair, sure enough. He’d seen it before, thick and soft. But underneath, where his junk would be, was a small pink slit. It quivered as Paul’s body shook, as he sobbed. The outer labia was slightly wet, probably from the day. John knew birds always leaked a bit, keeping them wet down there. 

Paul had a dick before. Paul’d had it in their circle jerks, where he came up with the group's name. (They called them the Beatles because they be beating dick). John sometimes saw it when they were changing.

John still couldn’t believe it. He was in a trance. His eyes couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing. He needed to touch it, solidify it. That would make it real. John touched the pink quivering skin for a split second before Paul violently jerked away.

“John?” Paul said. He seemed shaken.

“I wanted to make sure it was real.” John said. “You haven’t touched it?”

“No,” Paul shook his head. “No, I,” He grew distressed again, forgetting his momentary surprise. 

“I, I had to pee, y’know.” Paul’s eyes bugged out, eyebrows drawn. His voice was high and strained. “I couldn’t- I had to sit down.”

Paul buried his head in his hands again.

“God, it was ‘humiliating. Did ya know girls have’ta wipe after a piss? It fuckin’ ran down my leg.” Poor Paul seemed downright miserable. “I don’t wanna drink, but I gotta.” 

Paul let out a loud cry.

“M’ never gonna cum again!” He sobbed.

“Maybe I can take a look?” John said grimly. “I dunno, I don’t think it’ll go away if ya just ignore it. An’ you don’t wanna touch it.”

Paul shook his head. 

“Don’t, don’t do anything unnecessary.” Paul looked pained. “I don’t like touchin’ down there, but at least I don’t have’ta do it.”

John brought his hand to the quivering slit. He put a finger to where the outer labia met. It was warm. The outer labia was thin, pressed together, a small slit, not revealing much. It was quite a pretty one. He’d be delighted seeing it on a bird. The only problem was the rest of the body.

John gently spread the labia apart. The scent hit him immediately. It was so sweet, so enticing. The scent was so _feminine_. It made his salivate. The inner labia was the sweetest pink color, darkening beautifully and smoothly as it reached the entrance, where the moisture accumulated. It was a perfect vulva.

Paul’s pubic hair was unchanged. It was soft, though plentiful, the thick hair continuing to his thighs. The dark hair made the pink of the small slit stand out. With the outer labia spread, John could see the little clitoris at the top, slightly covered. Suppose that's all that remained of his dick.

John lightly brushed his finger against the nub. It shook him out of his trance when instead of the high pitched squeak of a bird, it was Paul’s deeper, whine of surprise he heard.

John looked back at Paul’s distressed face to help him refocus. Paul’s eyes were clenched, mouth pressed tight, face distorted in discomfort. John looked back to the cunt, trying to solidify that this wasn’t a bird’s cunt, it was some curse or affliction on his comrade. He did notice that the pink hue was the same as Paul’s lips, the inside of his mouth.

Paul held deathly still, holding his breath.

John pressed forward for his friend’s sake.

With women, the hymen would naturally tear as they moved. They didn’t need to have sex for it to be displaced, it could tear while riding a bike. Paul, however, only had his for two days. It covered him pretty well, leaving only a smaller hole for lubrication.

John didn’t know what he was looking for. It just seemed like a regular, albeit enticing, cunt.

John tried touching the clitoris again, circling it with his pointer finger. It was so strange to hear Paul’s sounds. It didn’t get any more unexpected. Paul’s voice was too deep, too unhappy, uncomfortable.

John placed his finger onto the small entrance, feeling it twitch under him. He tried to apply more pressure, but Paul shifted away, wincing.

“It might be only external. I want to see if it goes deeper.” Said John.

“Right.” Paul said. “I don’t want you to do it, though. I’d hate to touch it, but at least my fingers are smaller.”

Paul’s fingers were more slender, sure, but he still had large hands, much larger than a bird’s.

John watched, transfixed, as Paul brought his left pointer finger, grimacing as it stretched the small hole, sliding it inside. 

As he watched, John had an epiphany. Paul and the cunt were one in the same. This wasn’t some cunt superimposed on Paul. It was Paul’s cunt. This cunt was Paul’s cunt as his dick was his dick. It belonged to him. If Paul had been born a woman, this would be his cunt.

Paul’s jaw was tight as he slowly pulled it out. Disgusted at the fluids on his finger, Paul frantically wiped it off on the bed. 

What a waste. Paul may not like having it, but didn’t he know a good cunt when he saw it? Regardless if it was attached to him or not.

“It goes in far enough.” Paul said grimly.

John brought his face closer again, seeing the entrance to the hole pinker and wetter, slightly irritated by the stretch. It seemed that the attention it made blood flow to it, preparing it, despite Paul’s dismay. Suppose it was a dick in that aspect.

“It may be a ‘horrible thought,” John said “But if you came, do you think it would go back to normal?”

Paul made a miserable sound.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what else to do.” Paul whined. “I can’t do it. I hate touching it. I hate it.”

Paul seemed more delirious. Telling another person hadn’t fixed the situation, rather made it more humiliating, getting it touched and stared at.

“I’ll just use m’hand.You can just look away.”

Paul leaned back, resting on the bed. Maybe it would distance him if he couldn't see. Paul looked to the side, closing his eyes, eyebrows drawn.

“Please don’t touch the hole. Just to the knub. Please just make it quick. It doesn’t have to be good.”

“It's alright, just pretend you’re getting sucked off by some bird.”

Paul was silent, then said quietly.

“It… It doesn’t feel the same. I can’t”

John took note, just to get him off quickly. John began to rub a finger up and down the nub rapidly, trying to rush an orgasm. 

Paul tried to hold back his voice. The knub was a thousand times more sensitive than his dick was. The quick motion and pressure even hurt a bit due to the intensity. Paul just made a strained exhale. His orgasm was building quicker, so he dealt with it, trying to hold back his pained whines.

John kept doing it. He noticed more wetness trickle out of Paul’s entrance. The scent was really getting to John, making him bothered. Blood flowed into paul’s cunt, swelling the lips. It bloomed like a flower, becoming pinker and needier. The clitoris swelled also, becoming more sensitive.

Despite himself, John didn’t want to rush it. He realized he wanted to taste the sweet smelling fluid. Maybe, just maybe, since Paul’s eyes were closed, John could sneak a taste. He knew Paul would notice, whether he took his finger off, or used another to swipe some wetness from the source. By the time John brought it to his mouth, Paul would open his eyes and see, shocked and betrayed.

John realized he didn’t want to get rid of this cunt, if an orgasm would really make it return to normal. John grew irritated. This was a perfect cunt. The perfect cunt, and Paul wanted to get rid of it? Just because he was the one with it? Paul was being selfish. He didn’t even think of John’s thoughts, not only revealing this otherworldly cunt to him, but telling him to help him remove it?

John rubbed harder than he needed to, perhaps to force Paul to make noise because of this lovely organ that he detested so much. Feel good from it. Sure enough, Paul whined audibly.

“Not so hard,” Paul said piteously in a hoarse voice.

“Sorry, but you said you wanted it to be quick, I can’t do it both ways.” 

John got a smug satisfaction from seeing Paul’s face flush, him finding it harder to hold back his whines. His lovely cunt got more desperate. That’ll show him. John wasn’t interested in seeing Paul get off, that would be strange. If he was jacking him off for instance, he’d be disgusted. The rest of Paul’s body hadn’t changed. His moans were low-pitched, despite their sweetness.

John wished he could touch more of it. Feel the tight organ clench around his finger. That would feel heavenly... though not as heavenly as it clenching around something else.

“Are you close?” John asked. He hoped the taunting nature of his comment didn’t slip through in his tone.

Paul didn’t answer. He had heard the question, but didn’t want to spend a second thinking about it. Paul wanted it to be over already. He wanted his dick back.

John sped up, watching Paul get closer to orgasm. The noises he made were different than the ones in those English circle jerks that named their band. During those, Paul would moan low in his throat, happy, enjoying himself, savoring each moment that got him closer to release. Thinking about Bridgette, taking his time. 

Now, Paul was whining, high pitched, stifled. Each bit of pleasure gave him equal discomfort, knowing what was giving him the pleasure, his altered erogenous zone giving him unfamiliar sensations. He didn’t _want_ to feel pleasure, and the intensity of it was painful, rushing him to the finish.

Soon, he was pushed over the edge. Paul shuddered as the orgasm rushed through him. He let out the nicest, sweetest, melodic moans only a ballad singer could. His back arched, and the cunt pressed into the finger. The muscles inside of it spasmed. 

Paul’s slit winked, trembling against John’s finger. John watched fluid ooze out of the small hole, empty, clenching and unclenching around nothing, begging for something to fill it. If something was inside, it would be coaxed deeper, sucked into the warm, tight passage. 

It was so pink and needy. Instead of softening at the orgasm, it became more sensitive, swollen, ready for more. As he watched the sweet cunt tremble, leaking from that little hole, John realized he was at full mast.

Paul lay there, catching his breath. His cunt was still there, now sensitive in the after orgasm glow. Paul began to cry. Their half baked thought didn’t do it. His close friend had to watch him cum from that cunt, hear the sounds he made. This was the most humiliated he’d ever been in his life. He didn’t care about the eyes on him as he wept, laying on his back. His legs were still drawn up, exposing the line of his silt, but he didn’t care, really. John’d already poked and prodded at it, looked at it closely. He was disgusted with himself. He didn’t know what to do.

John watched the cunt hungrily. The scent wafted out of it’s source, filling John’s nostrils.

With Paul’s eyes closed due to the weeping, John brought the fingertip that had been on him to his mouth. Sure enough, the taste was intoxicating. Sweet as honey. He’d licked his finger clean, but he needed more, as if it were a drug. He needed to get it from the source, warm and abundant. John was grateful that his hunch didn’t work. The lovely cunt survived. The enticing sliver of pink flesh, nestled prettily between Paul’s soft shapely thighs. 

It was a part of him now, seamlessly intermingling with the rest of his body. 

-

John felt like he was just about to understand it. He was so close to putting two and two together.

Thoughts flew through his head. Why would a cunt appear? That didn’t just happen. There had to be an important reason. This was the action of a higher power. 

Furthermore, this was without a doubt, the perfect cunt. John had been with a very large amount of women. Some of them were incredible, some of them unsightly, but none enticed him the way this one did. The scent, the taste, the appearance. It was immaculate. He could only imagine what it would feel like.

John thought again. He’d figured out this cunt was unique to Paul. If he had been born a woman instead, this would've been his cunt, the counterpart to his dick. Unique to him just as his eyes, his hands, and his organs. His genetic code.

He thought then, why would Paul be given this cunt now? He was not born a woman, though if he were, he would possess a cunt perfectly tailored for John. 

John thought it over. 

Paul had a very feminine way about him. As somebody attracted to women, John could see that. Anybody could see the delicate features of his face. Paul had dark arched eyebrows, hazel bedroom eyes, with corners that tilted downward, long eyelashes. He had a dainty mouth with sweet petal lips. He’d part them often, giving him a demure look. seashell ears, a small upturned nose. His cheeks were soft and full, the long hair their group wore softening his features even further. The only masculine characteristics of his face was his brow ride and ability to grow facial hair, sometimes giving him 5 o’clock shadow. His pale skin contrasted beautifully with his soft dark hair and eyebrows. 

His neck was thicker than a woman’s should be though, the adam’s apple too. Paul’s shoulders were broad, his body wasn’t as slender as a woman’s would be. He didn’t have any tits.

Paul’s body still had its femininity. His waist curved inward, accentuating his hips and shapely legs. Paul had once been mistaken for a girl from a distance with his back turned. They’d been setting up, and the man in charge of the venue kept pointing at Paul, telling his assistant to “get that girl off the stage”. Paul’s back had a dip to it, a feminine arch from his shoulder blades to his rear. John would admit he’d looked before. It was a rounded feminine shape, perky too. Not geometric like a man’s would be. 

Paul’s pale skin was very soft, the slight layer of fat smoothing out his angles, similar to how a woman’s body did. His skin wasn’t as pliant as a woman, but still very delicate looking. John thought back to his lack of tits. Paul didn’t have any, but his chest was soft, the smallest of outward curves, with nice pink puffies. John had been with flatter chested women, skinny ones.

Paul’s legs had quite a bit of soft fuzz on them, but the legs themselves were long, shapely and pale, curving into his hips. His thighs were full, his calves rounded, delicate ankles, it all flowed together as it should.

John loved feet. He had a sick fascination with them he didn’t think was universal, in the same vein as breasts. He liked Paul’s feet as well. They were very arched, held in that position, as if Paul was still wearing his Chelsea boots. A very nice shape. They were soft and padded, small round toes. The soles wrinkled nicely when he scrunched them up. They definitely couldn’t be mistaken for a woman’s. Paul was 180cm tall (regrettably taller than him), he needed a larger base for that. 

Paul might have had a deep voice, but it was melodic and sweet. It wasn’t harsh, grating, or gravely (Like his was). It flowed like honey over the ears whether he was speaking or singing. It aroused the senses despite your sexual preference. It was the perfect siren call: though irresistibly sweet, was no less sad than sweet, and trapped both body and soul in a fatal lethargy, the forerunner of death and corruption.

John had slept with women much less fair than Paul was. Sometimes something was better than nothing. You couldn’t have a super-model type every night.

Despite all of this, Paul was still a man. He had a knob. John wasn’t attracted to men like Brian was. That alone turned him off. 

But now, the knob was gone, replaced with the most perfect cunt he’d ever laid eyes on.

The entirety of it dawned on him suddenly, watching that cunt, that delectable thin pink silt, nestled sweetly between those full thighs, surrounded by soft dark hair, quiver along with Paul’s gentle sobs.

This was for him. For John. A gift. A message, from the gods themselves.

A cunt didn’t just grow on Paul for the sake of cruel irony, a mockery of his femininity, or a punishment for his promiscuity. This was a divine act. It was a message for John, that Paul was made for him. The cunt was put here for him to take. 

Their partnership had made them successful. This was a dynamic that had been proven true throughout the ages. The divine feminine and mascunine: the Adam and Eve. Paul was the feminine, with his soft features, nurturing disposition, and John was the masculine, with his strength and anger. It was predestined. 

Paul was supposed to be born with this cunt, was perfectly tailored for John, Just as Eve was created for Adam. There must have been some mistake, but it was fixed now.

The rest of Paul’s body hadn’t changed, but the cunt alone communicated what it needed to. Maybe it was better that Paul hadn’t changed, he would remain how John remembered him.

John understood now. It was written.

-

He looked down at Paul on the bed, miserable and covering his face. John grinned down at him, Paul’s slightly parted legs revealing that delicious pink sliver, the rest of his sweet cunt hidden between them.

Paul wouldn’t need to worry anymore. John had figured it out.

John put his hands on Paul's delicate knees, pulling them apart. The scent wafted over him, wafting over him. He wanted to spread those petal lips further again, take in all of it.

Ignoring Paul’s confused expression, John brought his head lower. He grazed it with his tongue, getting the briefest taste, feel it quiver against his organ, before he got a firm blow to the head.

“What’d you do that for, Paul?” He groaned once pulling back, rubbing his head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Paul snapped, scooting further down the bed.

Paul was a bit shaken. He’d been so wrapped up in his own grieving, he forgot about John. He thought he’d left, disgusted by him.

“I’ve figured it out, see?” John said with a devilish grin, beaming at him. 

“You...did?” Said Paul quietly, disbelievingly. He knew how to fix it?

“You don’t need to be miserable anymore.” He said. “It’s for me, see? The cunt’s for me.”

Paul only gawked at him in stunned silence.

“It’s... what?” Paul said, faltering.

“I couldn’t have you before, right? But you’ve got a cunt now.” John said. “It's a divine act to send a message to me. You were made for me to take. You were born for me.”

“You...no.” Paul said, not only miserable, but irritated, feeling like he was being ridiculed. “That’s mad.”

He tried to tell him off, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Paul had shown his horrible affliction to him, and was now in front of him sobbing on his back, still exposing his cunt. He never felt so pathetic. 

It just wasn’t getting through to Paul. John would make him understand.

John pulled his legs apart again, the sweet scent hitting him. John’s eyes fixed on it, smiling hungrily as he salivated. He brought his head down close, breathing it in. He was about to indulge in his gift, when another fist came down on his head. Harder now, more intended to hurt than simply shock him.

A foot collided with John’s head. Though Paul wasn’t wearing his boots, he packed quite the punch. Paul was stronger than he looked, John knew, and he was taller than him. 

Paul was focused on kicking him back, scooting away so he could get off the bed and better defend himself. John had gone mad.

Before he could scoot far enough, John leapt onto the bed, kneeling over Paul, still on his back. John grabbed Paul by the ankle, pulling him up by it, throwing him off balance. Paul fell on his back, the air knocked out of him with an “oof!” John kept a firm hold on him, keeping Paul’s leg raised. John could see the sliver of Paul’s lovely silt again, flashing teasingly between his slightly parted legs. 

Paul looked up at him, distinctly frightened. Paul would be angry, but he had put himself in a vulnerable position from the beginning, exposing himself.

“You don’ want me to bring in the lads, do ya?” John taunted. “Make them see yer pretty cunt? M’ sure the whole world will be quite taken by this interesting development?”

John sounded out “development” in an impish manner, trying to lighten the statement. He wanted to take what was rightfully his, Paul was being oddly difficult about it, but he didn’t want to come off too threatening.

Paul’s face went pale. 

“You, you wouldn’t” Paul said, shell shocked.

“I would though.” John said. “I need to have you. You’re still not getting it, so you need to let me show you.”

“John, why?” Paul said in a small pleading voice. He looked betrayed. He’d confided in John, trusted him, exposed himself. One of his closest friends… his voice got even quieter. “...why?”

“You’ve gotten it all wrong, Paul!” John stressed, trying to make Paul unafraid of him. That’s not what he was trying to do. “You were given it for a reason, and that reason is me! It was made for this!”

“No, that’s- not.” Paul whimpered.

“NO!” John shouted. That shut him up. Paul’s face was completely white now. He was having trouble breathing out of fear, making quiet gasping noises for air. This wasn’t doing what John wanted at all. He was trying to make Paul less afraid, not petrify him! He tried again.

“This isn’t a bad thing! You wanted an answer didn’t you? That’s why you came to me, and I found it! Why can’t you get it through your thick ‘head?”

Paul still shook his head. What didn’t make sense to him? Sure, he must be shocked at the change, but this was how he was supposed to be. It was a change intended to put things right, not the other way around. Paul had been griping about dying alone earlier. Well? His grievance had been solved. He was probably confused.

“You’ll see my side, Paul.” John said. “I’ll show ya.”

John pulled Paul’s shaking thighs apart for a third time, staring down at his perfect cunt. It was still glistening from John’s earlier administrations, ready for him to make them complete. 

John was the happiest he's ever been. He’d been waiting his whole life for divine confirmation of his life’s direction. He’d been so lost his entire life, unsure and worried, but he didn’t have to be, he’d been given a clear message.

He brought his head down, taking in the scent of it. Delicious. It smelled so feminine. It was a rich, deep, feminine arousal, yet distinctly Paul’s. He Paul’s thighs trembled on either side of John’s head, the body heat coming off them warming him, the soft hair ticking his ears.

Paul shook hard in John’s grasp, too afraid. How long could he hide this for? He was sure John would go through with his threats, he’d gone mad, obsessed with the idea of fucking him. People he knew would question why he didn’t sleep around anymore. Jane would question why he wouldn’t fuck her anymore. He could only placate her with his mouth for so long. 

The morbidity of the situation further dawned on him, he was about to be eaten out himself. 

John spread Paul’s legs further, trying to reveal more of his cunt. It was such a shy little thing, folding in on itself. He finally brought his tongue to the organ, sliding it between the folds, feeling it quiver against his tongue. He relished in the long beautiful moan Paul let out at the contact.

Paul let out a long uncomfortable noise at the warm wet appendage sliding against his heated organ. It was such an awful feeling. Too much moisture and wetness, that awful tongue sliding inside him. This wasn’t like getting sucked off by a girl, it felt more invasive. This wasn’t just to make him get off quickly. John wasn’t being clinical like before, relishing every taste. Drawing out noises and drinking in that horrible fluid. 

John deepened it, licking deeper into him. Paul jumped when he felt John’s tongue squirm into his small hole. John rubbed his thigh, showing it charmed him. 

It was all over for Paul when John’s mouth found the little nub at the top. It was a thousand times more sensitive than his prick. He couldn’t hold his voice in, yelling and whining as it was way too much. He quite nearly screamed when John bit it lightly with his teeth.

Delicious. It was sweet as honey, as sweet as Paul’s voice. It was ambrosia, warm and from the source. John began addicted to the taste, his own lifeblood. He licked into the little hole, trying to open it wider. It desperately sucked in his tongue, begging for it. 

Paul hummed uncomfortable. Head wedged in between his legs. Paul laid there deathly still. He knew John would reveal him if he tried to resist. If only he didn’t have this goddamned cunt, he would’ve fought back. He could take on John in a fight when it came down to it.

One of his closest friends… why…? He had confided in John, trusted in him. Not only had his body betrayed him, but also his friend? He didn’t think John would do this to him. Even if John was bluffing, what could he do? He couldn’t just depart from the songwriting partnership. He’d finally made it, the only way to get away from John would be to give that up.

What was worse was the pleasure. John was making him feel pleasure from the horrible organ, ravishing it as if John had been starved for days, doing all he could do to get a reaction out of him. It wasn’t too long ago that Paul had a bird squirming on his lips. Paul tried to scoot away from the mouth pressed into his wet heat, but John had a tight hold on his hips, holding his waist in place. 

Paul whined, he was getting close again. John was trying to coax another torturous orgasm out of him. It was building stronger inside of him, his entire organ being stimulated and heated up by John’s breaths and tongue. It wasn’t being forced out, it was being drawn out. Paul tried to jerk away, but that just made John grab him tighter, press him closer. 

“Stop now! You’ve had enough, haven’t ya?” Paul pleaded, trying to push him away, though not using all his strength in fear of retaliation.

John didn’t stop. Paul tried to hold it off for as long as he could, shifting his hips in John’s hold. Ultimately, it was fruitless, as he was coaxed into a second, more intense orgasm.

Paul sobbed as it rocked through him, letting out long involuntary moans. The female orgasm felt different. It was throughout his whole body, muscles in his abdomen contracting, coming in waves. He was hyperaware of John’s mouth riding him through it, eagerly devouring every bit of fluid he released.

John began again after Paul had a few seconds to catch his breath. Paul’s complaints and begging fell upon deaf ears. He kept devouring that sweet cunt, bringing it to orgasm a third time.

Paul lay there breathing heavily. His breaths turned into whines, which turned into cries. Tears ran down his soft pale cheeks.

Was it over? Had John had fun with his new organ, too tempted by a cunt in front of him to think rationally? Was he done?

Paul panicked when he heard the clinking of a belt. His eyes shot open.

“No! John, you can’t!” Paul said, horrified. He tried to tug his legs away. 

John increased the strength of his hold, nearly leaving marks. He leaned in closer to Paul’s face.

“Unless ya want me to carry you into the corridor, and throw ya down in front of everyone with yer sweet little cunt showing, I’ll suggest ya quiet down, McCartney.” John said. 

Paul was being so unnecessarily difficult, and there was no getting through to him with words. It must be the feminine in him, too foolish, needing John to guide him. 

“I hate to threaten ya. I don’t want ya to be miserable.” John said gently in his gravelly voice. “You’d be so much ‘happier if you’d just accept yer fated purpose. I made ya feel good, didn’t I? I’m sure I did if yer sweet moans were anything to go by.”

“I don’t _want_ this, John” Paul said tearfully, disbelievingly. “You're deluded. You’re, you're mad.”

John’s face darkened.

“You’re the one who grew a cunt, and I’m the deluded one?”John raved.”You can’t even see what's clearly in front of you.” 

John sat up holding Paul’s legs up and apart. The silt of Paul’s cunt moved playfully along with the muscles of his thighs as he shifted John smiled widely at it. Paul tried to move away, only resulting in arching his back. 

It was heaven when the tip of him grazed against the silt, warm, wet and ready. Paul made an anguished prolonged whine at the anticipation, now crying quite loudly. 

John wasn't a sadist, he didn’t like doing this to Paul. He didn’t like seeing him despair. He shouldn’t be miserable right now. It must be that he was confused, overwhelmed by all that was happening.

Paul hadn’t made the connection, but that sweet cunt knew that he was its fated pair. It called to him, craved him, trembling with anticipation, ready to be completed. Paul would understand too, as his cunt already did.

John applied more pressure, making the tip press against Paul’s little entrance rather than just the outer labia. He bent over, laying his body on Paul’s. He wanted their bodies to be close as he did this. He wanted to feel Paul’s soft breaths, his heartbeat, and heat. Paul’s heart was beating so fast, breaths were quick and shallow. John’s hands were still on his shapely thighs, pushing them apart, pushing them forward.

“This is a beautiful thing.” John sighed, reveling in the moment. He could only deflower Paul once. His heart had never felt so full. It felt so right. “It’s a new beginning.”

Paul felt the blunt head of it press lightly against his tiny, sensitive entrance. It was horrifying, straining and heated, intending to breech him. He hadn’t even wanted to look at or touch his cunt, much less get fucked.

“Please,” The fear and weakness in Paul’s voice was unrecognizable, even to him. This was his last chance to talk some sense into John. 

  
  


“Please, John. Don’t do this. I’m your friend, I’m not some sort of _gift_ . What’s happened to you?”Paul said, voice getting more panicked. “John, I don’t know why this happened, but that's _not it_ . It’s not. I don’t _want_ this. I never _agreed_ to this.”

He prayed John would finally understand what he was doing, be horrified by his actions. John had cared for him didn’t he? All his friends did. Or would they have had the same idea? See his cunt and think they needed to fuck him? Were they all suppressing some sort of sexual desire for him? He couldn’t even be sure anymore.

Paul’s words fell on deaf ears. It seemed that John was utterly brainwashed in his own delusions. There was no talking to him. No getting through to him. John held him to his body, pressing himself against Paul, weighing him down into the bed.

John entered him slowly. The pressure was light, but persistent. It was excruciatingly intimate, the heartbeat and body heat, the breaths on his face. The room was deathly quiet. Paul couldn’t even hear the sounds of the city, distant squeals of the fans. It was as if time had stopped. 

Paul screamed from the depths of his soul as his hymen slowly tore. It was hurting his throat. He was surprised nobody came to help him. He was screaming so loudly that the whole floor should be able to hear it.

Paul had been on the other end of this quite a few times. He’d done this to some of his fans without a second thought, just another fuck for the night. They had wanted it. They said they were saving themselves for him, they adored him. They were just another hole for him, another fuck, another orgasm. He didn’t think of their names, bother to remember them. He forgot their faces the minute they left his sight.

Paul shook in John’s hold as he pushed in. John shushed him, stroked Paul’s hair, told him he was doing perfectly. That Paul was lovely.

Paul cried out loudly when the head was in. John shushed him again, stroking Paul’s sides under his shirt.

John pushed deeper, each inch of it excruciating. It went too deep into him. Paul didn’t even have this space inside of him before.

When John was entirely inside him it hurt like hell. It hurt so badly, the large organ twitching inside him. Paul spasmed around it, trying to find room. It felt so unnatural. If John had decided he wanted him one day, and fucked him in the ass, at least he had an ass before. This was so unnatural. Their hips were flush against each other. Paul hummed uncomfortably as it was held inside of him.

“God, it feels so nice inside of ya.” John said as if all the universe’s questions were answered. “We’re finally connected. This’s what it appeared on ya for, so we could become one in the same. Don’t ya see it now?”

“Please...don't move.” Said Paul weakly.

John kissed him on the mouth. Disgusting. John felt nothing like a woman would, and the smell was different. He might have a cunt, but Paul’s mouth hadn’t changed. He hadn’t become a woman! He knew people made digs at his girly appearance, but he couldn’t be mistaken for one. Paul still had his broad shoulders, deep voice, adam’s apple, and body hair. He could grow a beard, he had no breasts. He couldn’t see why John was doing all this over a cunt.

“I’ll wait for ya to get used to ‘it. Don’ worry.” John whispered in his harsh voice. He was trying to sound gentle, but Paul couldn’t think of that when he was inflicting this upon him.

John laid there, on top of him for the longest time. There was no chance in hell Paul would go and tell John when it stopped hurting as much. He wanted him _out_. He wanted John to leave him alone, to deal with his terrible fate. Paul remembered the worst thing to happen to him being waking up with his dick gone. He didn’t think it would turn out like this.

John seemed perfectly content lying on top of Paul, weighing him down. John twitched in him intermittently, sending waves of disgust through him. Maybe it would be better if John would get it over with already, instead of drawing it out.

John stroked Paul’s hair, sighing. Paul’s body was so soft, so warm. He felt Paul’s gentle heartbeat under him, coursing through the warm wet passage enveloping him as well. It was a perfect fit. If John had any doubts about the reason for the cunt’s appearance before, it was gone. If a higher power made a cunt especially for him, the perfect match, this was it. 

“Are you ready now?” John said gently.

“No. No. Just take it out. Please take it out.” Paul mumbled.

John frowned. He thought Paul would understand once they were connected. How in the hell did he not see it? It felt so good on John’s end.

John began to move slowly. Paul whined and begged, grabbing pleadingly at John’s arms. 

The passage was hot, wet and tight, sucking John in. The inner walls grazed against him wonderfully. He’d been with so many, so so many women, none of them felt as good as this. He knew this cunt was made for him, and he was born to fill it. There was a mistake in Paul’s birth, but it was fixed now, and John forgave it.

John looked deep into Paul’s miserable eyes as he neared release. It was a very beautiful color: deep brown with the hints of green. Paul had light freckles on his face, hardly darker than his skin, on his nose and cheeks. His face was the perfect teardrop shape, all his features leading to his deep eyes and little mouth. He looked so sad, eyes red, tears pooling along the bottom eyelashes wet. He looked nowhere in particular dejectedly. His lips were slightly apart in a grimace, rabbit teeth gritted. Paul’s eyes squeezed shut as John got rougher, nearing his release. 

Paul had resigned to his horrible fate, waiting for it to end, but he began to panic when he realized John was close, but making no move to pull out.

“No! Not inside! You can’t!” Paul screamed frantically.

John felt Paul’s fists come down on his back, as Paul shook and tried to detach himself. Paul was strong, but John was stronger, his body weight pressing him down in addition to his need to consummate their union. Paul didn’t understand, but he needed to finish inside to truly complete the rite.

John came in him, going as deep as possible, kissing Paul’s sweet womb. His cunt drew him deeper, savoring every bit of his release. It knew what was happening, it knew the magnitude of this moment. Paul hit his back harder and cried, shouting illegible things in his hysteria. 

John stayed inside him even after he rode through it. Paul’s punches got lighter, Paul got sadder, more forlorn. He cried quietly. Struggling was no use now that it was done. Paul could feel it seeping into him, moving around, John keeping it all inside.

“What if’t goes deep? What’f I can get pregnant?” Paul said, then began to hyperventilate, face completely drained of color.

“That would be perfect..” Said John, caressing Paul’s soft, shaking belly. “I’ll take responsibility. It's a beautiful thing isn’t it?”

John grinned his impish grins of his. He only wished Paul could be happy about it too. Paul had such a silly smile, he wanted to see it.

Paul would be the perfect mother to his child, cheery and nurturing. Paul loved children, and would take care of them well. He was great with John’s son, in fact. They’d have the perfect family. They’d never separate, leaving their children behind. John could have many children with him.

“Aren’t you glad?” John cooed at him.

Paul’s eyes were closed. He’d stopped crying. He looked grim. Pale, and face distorted in sadness. A deep sadness. He would understand. A higher power wouldn’t do something that would hurt Paul. They must love him, as they loved John. Paul would be happy again soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As somebody who hates feet, it was very difficult to write from the perspective of a foot fetishist in that one part. 
> 
> (Mc….McCuntney)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought y’all were entitled to your criticism, but if you go into a fic seeing the warning, read the whole thing, then leave a nasty comment because you don’t like that it has...what was mentioned in the warning...that’s on you. If you’re troubled by the content, please avoid these stories.
> 
> I understand it’s not for everybody, but some like reading morbid shit. It’s not supposed to be a nice story. I don’t want a debate on what should and should not be written.

Paul tried to better hide his grief. After last night’s experience, he trusted his friends a lot less. If John could betray him like this, his closest friend, how could he expect anything different from the rest of them?

John treated him the same as before. It was horrible. He was acting as if they were friends again, being pleasant with him. John spoke to him casually about music and touring. It was hard for Paul to keep a straight face. He might have let a few paled expressions flash across his face whenever John’s attention was on him. John was acting normal, but Paul caught an occasional look of hunger in his eyes when he looked at him, gaze lingering on Paul’s body and face.

At the end of the day, George and Ringo were getting ready to head out for the night. The nightlife in the city was great, and they always got attention once removing their disguises.

Paul made no move to get ready. He could chat up a girl, get swarmed with them even, but then what? He couldn’t sleep with any of them.

“You coming?” Ringo said. John had made no move to leave either.

“Nah, Paul and I are staying in tonight. We need to work on a new song.” He said.

“Huh? Alright then.” George said.

“Wait!” Paul blurted out. George gave him a strange look. Paul’s voice sounded strangely desperate. He didn’t want to be left alone with John. He forced his voice to sound more casual, not arouse suspicion. “...how ‘bout ya stay and help? We can use yer input.”

“You brush off most of my ideas, why do ya want me to stay?” George said wearily. “You’ve only let me record one song.”

Paul tried to speak, but his voice died in his throat. George looked worried. His tone became more gentle.

“S’alright, Paul. I don’ mind so much.” He said. “I’ll see ya later tonight, okay?”

His two bandmates said their parting words, leaving their hotel suite.

Paul made a move to hurry to his room.

“Where’re ya going?” Said John.

Paul froze in his tracks, hand on the doorknob. He turned slowly, face pale.

“What is it?” Paul said slowly, quietly, fearing the response.

“Come ‘ere.” John said warmly. He held out his arms, a welcoming look on his face.

Paul shook his head slowly, maintaining eye contact.

John’s face fell. He looked concerned.

“What’s wrong?” He said.

Paul was frozen, just looking at him. He didn’t want to say anything.

“I know what you want. It’s not to work on a song.” Paul said quietly.

John laughed.

“No, I didn’t stay back to work on a song, Paul.”

“Why me again?” Paul said angrily. He was desperate and outraged by his situation. He felt so cheated by the universe. “Why does it have to be me? You can just get a girl from outside!”

John just smiled.

“You don’t understand. I don’t need it anymore.” John was giving him an adoring look, but Paul couldn’t see it as anything but threatening, with his wide eyes and long grin. “Why do I need anything else when I have my perfect match? It’s the perfect fit. Don’t you see? I’ll have you from now until the day I die.”

Paul shook his head disbelievingly.

“You’ve never been monogamous before!” Paul faltered, color draining from his face again. “You’re, you’re married for Chrissake!”

John frowned.

“I suppose so. I can’t get married to you.”

John thought a moment, then his face lit up again.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said. “We’ve consummated the union last night. In the eyes of the lord, we’re bound together.”

Paul shook his head tearfully, backing away against the door. He was trying to put more distance between them.

“Why, Paul?” John said softly. He looked sad again, genuinely hurt that Paul was acting like this.

“Why aren’t you happy?” John said again, in the same soft tone. “You should be happy. 

John became frustrated, pacing around the room.

“Why aren’t you happy?” John’s voice began to rise. “You’re so...selfish! This isn’t just about you!”

Paul turned to get into his room, opening the door. John grabbed his left wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Show it to me again.”

Paul shook his head, face pale.

“You can’t keep me from it!” John shouted. “You may not understand, but it knows what it wants!”

“You’re mad.” Paul said weakly.

John shook his head vigorously at his words. He kept ranting and raving.

“Don’t ya see I don’t want to hurt ya? I don’ want to threaten ya, but yer making me to it!” John jerked Paul’s wrist in his grasp. “I don’ want ya to suffer, or make ya get ridiculed for yer cunt! You jus’ won’t listen!”

Paul hissed when John took a tight hold of his chin. He looked over Paul’s pretty but distressed face, eyebrows drawn and teeth gritted.

“I know it ‘hurts the first time. I tried to be gentle, son.” John tried to make his voice gentle again, but it was much too gravely. “I wan’ it to be good for ya too.”

John rubbed his thumb across Paul’s trembling cheek. This was all so strange. Paul hated seeing his friend like this. He’d completely lost it. John was utterly convinced he was in the right, convinced Paul was the one being unreasonable. 

He mourned for the old John. John used to treat him as an equal. He would rag on him as well as their other friends, and Paul could dish it back. Now, because of his delusions, John was treating him so gingerly as if Paul really were a fragile woman. The change in dynamic made it all the more screwed up.

John considered picking up Paul so he could lay him down somewhere. Sadly, he knew Paul was much too heavy.

It did occur to John that despite the cunt, Paul was exactly the same. He had the same voice and face, no physical difference at all. It was rather strange acting this way to somebody he had seen as his friend for the past seven years. It was the same Paul, terrified of him now, making pathetic noises in his same masculine voice.

John brought his hand lower, lightly feeling around Paul’s groin. Paul jumped at the contact. John smiled, not feeling a bulge. The cunt was still there, concealed under his friend’s trousers.

Paul had his eyes closed, distancing himself from the light touches. 

“Can I see it again?” John said gently “please?”

John ran his finger along where the slit would be under the trousers, making Paul shiver uncomfortably. John’s other hand ran over Paul’s hip, the curve from his waist to his thigh.

“I don’t want to be fucked, John.” Paul strained through his teeth.

“I miss it, Paul.” He said. “I want to see it again.”

John kept running his finger slowly up and down Paul’s slit through his pants, watching him squirm. Paul couldn’t shy away from the touches while pressed against the door.

Maybe if he could just make Paul feel nice again, he’d begin to come around. John made him feel good yesterday didn’t he?

John moved to undo Paul’s fly. When John’s fingers gripped around the zipper, both of Paul’s hands shot to grab onto his forearm, stopping John in his tracks.

John looked up. Paul was looking pleadingly into his eyes, eyebrows drawn. They were watery and large. His lip was quivering. A last ditch effort to get through to John. It was his close friend, miserable because of him, trying to make him reconsider. There was nothing else he could say.

Paul could fight back if he wanted. He wasn’t a submissive little bird, just as physically capable as John.

Paul would be sad to fight somebody he once considered a close friend, but that all went out the window the moment John ignored his pleas and tore into his cunt. Paul had exposed himself to John, desperate for support, needing somebody to help him. John had completely betrayed his trust in the worst way imaginable. Paul could deck the fucker if he wanted to.

He just...couldn’t. John would expose him, making him a worldwide joke. His fame would be over. All he could do was plead with him, despite how pathetic it might be. It was all he had.

John wiped the tear under Paul’s eye away with his thumb.

“Come on, Paul.” He said quietly. “It’ll be good. How can I make it good for you?”

“You can’t.” Paul said. John didn’t get it. It didn’t matter how _nice_ he was, or how _gentle_ he was. He didn’t want this. He would _never_ want this.

“I’ll make you feel nice, Paul.”

Paul winced, closing his eyes when John cupped his face. John put on slight pressure, not enough to hurt, just to feel the softness of Paul’s cheeks. John slid them back, cradling the back of Paul’s head, caressing him with his thumbs.

“No…” Paul whispered. Tears ran from his closed eyes, over his soft cheeks.

John wiped the tears off again.

“Be happy, Paul.” John said. “Smile.”

Paul cracked open his blurry eyes. He was still grimacing, like he was in pain.

“Smile.” He said again.

John frowned as Paul kept his pitiful expression. Paul still wouldn’t listen to him. What was wrong with him? John was being so gentle too. He was asking so nicely, not just taking it in the hopes Paul would understand. It was so unfair. Thousands of girls would kill to be in Paul’s position. He told Paul he’d take care of him, he’d be loyal to him.

“Fine, be that way.” John spat.

John grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him to the couch, sitting him down. Paul scooted back against the couch cushion. He was _still_ trying to put distance between them!

“Why are you so fuckin’ afraid?!” 

Paul just shrunk more into himself in response to the yelling. John grabbed his arms, pulling them apart so Paul couldn’t hide himself away. John looked into his miserable eyes angrily.

Last time they had made love, Paul had been still wearing his shirt and tie, socks too. John had been hasty to take him that first time, excited by the divine confirmation. This time, John wanted to see all of him. He wanted to feel Paul’s skin and heat against him. He began to unbutton Paul’s shirt.

Paul shook and allowed him to rid him of his clothes. John slid off his Chelsea boots, removing his trousers. Paul recoiled when he tried to remove his briefs, so John had to shoot him a look. That did it.

John backed away once Paul was undressed, admiring him. Paul tried to cover himself with his arms, pulling his legs up. All that did was show John a sliver of that gorgeous slit in the gap between Paul’s shins.

He’d seen Paul in various stages of undress before. He’d seen him in bathing suits, and glimpses when he changed. John hadn’t looked too hard, and felt nothing, Paul’s knob evident in either scenario.

Paul was as lovely as he thought. Soft pale skin and dark hair to contrast it. John didn’t mind the body hair so much, it was soft, growing thicker as it neared his slit. Paul’s thighs were a nice shape, his hips curved quite femininely from his waist. Paul’s chest was nice and soft, though his shoulders were a bit broad. His arms were toned, and not quite dainty. It wasn’t a woman’s body, but it didn’t matter. He was very beautiful as he was, and had his cunt.

“Yer lovely.” John sighed.

Paul just looked at him, nothing behind the eyes. It was so sad to John.

“Come now.” John said. He put his hands on Paul’s knees, opening them slightly.

John looked down at the slit he loved and had missed. There it was, moist, pink, quivering. It wanted him, it had missed him too.

“Ah, there she is.” he said, salivating.

Paul’s mouth was slack, still in disbelief and fear. John grinned up at him, his gremlin-like expressions.

“At least one of you understands what it wants. Be good tonight, Paul.”

Paul covered his face with his hands.

John reached his finger down, sliding in between those pressed together lips. He ran it up the length of Paul’s slit, catching on his little clitoris. Paul jumped at the contact and shook uncomfortably as it happened. The cunt was so soft and moist, trembling against his finger.

John brought the finger to his mouth, tasting it. He closed his eyes as he savored it, a delighted expression on his face.

“God, it’s delicious.” He said

John ran a hand up Paul’s thigh, gently holding the bend of his knee.

“Come on, Paul.” He cooed. He caressed the side of Paul’s knee with his thumb.

“John, why?” Paul sobbed. He already knew John’s warped reasoning. It was more a question to the universe. More of a ‘why me?’

John kissed Paul’s knee. He then moved down his body. He grabbed Paul’s left ankle, raising his foot.

_What is he doing?_

John brought his mouth to the foot.

Holy fuck… John was licking it.

“...what?” Paul said weakly. What was this? Was this another mind game? He was already in such a strange headspace, he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

John kissed the sole, looking up at him dreamily.

“You’ve got lovely feet, Paul, y’know.”

“...what?” He said again, his voice broke

What is this? Paul just looked at him. He felt confusion through his misery, as if John was mocking him.

“Suppose s’ a bit strange, but I’ve always ‘loved feet.” John said.

How strange. Paul was taken out of his distress for a brief moment from the odd confession. At any other time he would rag on John for admitting something like that, but he was in no position for that now. Their dynamic was all wrong now, Paul being vulnerable to him.

John was licking the sole, kissing it. It felt gross, all warm and wet. Paul watched in disgust as John sniffed it, pressing his cheek against the bottom. It seemed genuine, John really wasn’t fucking with him.

John reveled in it until he was satisfied, then moved onto the other foot. Paul felt sick, but didn’t dare kick him.

When John was satisfied, he sat back up and ran his hands up Paul’s sides, making him jump.

“How can I make it good for you, Paul?” John’s voice sounded lustful, lower and gravely. “What do you like?”

Paul didn’t meet his eyes, looking stubbornly away from him, looking at the far wall. He didn’t answer.

John supposed Paul was still going to be difficult. He shrugged. Paul will be making his lovely noises soon enough.

John ran his tongue through those lovely pink folds. They pressed tightly together, it was such a shy cunt, putting slight pressure on his tongue. He pressed his tongue flag against Paul’s clitoris, feeling Paul’s heartbeat course through it. He heard Paul’s sweet gasp. He couldn’t hold in his voice when that nub was pressed.

“Oh, Paul,” he said against the cunt.

John widened Paul’s legs, attempting to better see his sweet inner labia. Even with his thighs spread, John could only see a sliver of it between Paul’s outer lips. Such a shy cunt. John had to pull the outer labia apart with his fingers to see inside.

The sweet scent hit him much stronger the moment the lips were pulled apart. John looked into it. Paul’s hymen was definitely not as intact as the previous evening. That was good, hopefully this time it wouldn’t hurt Paul. His sweet little entrance clenched and unclenched at being exposed to the cold air. Paul’s clitoris sat like a little pearl at the top.

John bent his head down again, his flat tongue running across the entire thing. His tongue caught on the hole, and he slipped it inside. Paul shifted uncomfortably as it squirmed around inside him. He couldn’t shy away as John had a firm hold on his thighs. Paul had such cute reactions when his hole was played with. This was also the origin of Paul’s ambrosia, hot and wet from the source. John could drink it for hours.

With the labia pulled apart, John was able to better explore each sensitive crevice. He drank it in, tasted it, felt it quiver against his tongue. Paul’s sweet, yet distressed reactions made it all the more enjoyable.

When he had his fun, and decided he wanted Paul to cum, he began consistently sucking in Paul’s little nub. 

Paul got louder, the muscles around his cunt tightening and relaxing. More liquid trickled out of that sweet little hole as Paul got closer, lighting up John’s sense of smell. Paul tugged at his hair, trying to pull him away, not wanting to be brought to orgasm again. That only made John want to eat him out harder, make it an intense one.

“I don’t want to, John!” He said in a high whine. “Please don’t make me cum from this again!”

He could tell Paul was holding it back, but it was a losing battle. Paul’s legs shook as his cunt spasmed. John rode him through it, bringing his mouth lower to devour the copious amount of sweet liquid oozing out of that clenching and unclenching entrance.

Paul’s teeth were gritted, but dispute his best efforts, he couldn’t stifle the high pitched whines escaping him.

When Paul recovered, opening his eyes, John was grinning up at him. God it was a horrible sight. He looked so vindicated. He had forced it out of him.

“How was it, Paul?” He said.

Paul shook his head and cried, not giving a legible answer.

“I wish you’d at least smile when you cum, Paul. You look like you’re in pain the entire time.” He said sadly.

John had seen brief glimpses of him cumming at the circle jerks. It would be dark in the room, but sometimes a slight amount of moonlight would illuminate Paul’s face. He’d be smiling his wide, open mouthed smiles, showing off his rabbit teeth. His eyes would be shut tight, his laugh lines appearing, his cheeks bunched up. What a silly smile.

John realized he hadn’t seen him smile like that for a while. Paul was normally the cheery sort, grinning at the slightest thing. He’d seen a smile here and there, sure, but it was slight, and Paul’s eyes still looked sad.

The only thing that seemed to distract him was performing. Paul would start out the set sort of melancholy, but revert to his excitable self when he sang his quicker songs. He’d get pumped up, the crowd egging him on. Paul would come off the stage happy, but as the endorphins ran off, and he was brought back to reality, he’d seem even sadder than before. Despite his efforts to conceal his misery, this is when the worst of it shown through. He looked so empty.

John got an idea. He brought his hands to Paul’s sides and began tickling him. Sure enough, Paul was laughing again. He had his silly smile, making low giggling noises.

“Stop!” He shrieked through the laughter. His mouth was wide open, eyes shut, teary now in a good way.

John’s heart grew at seeing him happy again. He began to smile as well, warmth blooming inside him.

A fist collided with John’s temple. Hard.

John’s head rang. He was in shock. He pressed his hand against the side of his head, horrible pain brimming with where Paul had hit him. Paul could throw a good punch. John knew that.

“You little fuck...” John seethed. He glared daggers at Paul. John’s heart was beating faster, the anger growing inside of him. John was quick to temper. He wanted to beat Paul into the couch cushion.

Paul looked at him terrified, holding his fist. He scooted back on the couch. He made a move to climb over the back and run.

John grabbed him by the shin, pulling him back, making him fall onto the cushions. Paul tried to break away again once he fell, frantically tugging his leg. John realized he was expecting the worst. Paul was _afraid_ of him. It shouldn’t be this way.

“I forgive you, Paul.” John said bitterly, holding back his impulses, trying to push down his anger. He tried to sound calmer. “I’m not going to hurt ya. I know ya don’t know any better. It’s alright.”

Paul stopped trying to yank his leg away, but he trembled, meeting John’s gaze with terrified eyes. Paul’s body was completely exposed to John. He tried to cover it, wrapping his arms around himself. He tried to bring his legs in, but he couldn’t with John’s hold on it.

“Oh, come now, Paul.” John said apologetically. “Beautiful Paul.”

John stroked his dark hair slowly, trying to soothe him. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, retreating into his shoulders.

John did that for a bit, trying to get Paul’s heart rate down. Paul didn’t move much from his position, intermittently shivering. John felt the soft hair between his fingers. Their hair was very long for men, people accused them of wearing wigs. They were probably just jealous of their thick heads or hair.

Once Paul’s breaths began to get relatively more even, John snaked his hand back between those sweet thighs. He slid a finger between those lovely folds, into Paul’s wet little hole. It clenched delightfully around his finger. Paul whined and shifted his hips at the intrusion. John giggled, caressing Paul’s lower abdomen, releasing the tension.

John felt around the silky walls, trying to see what would make Paul react. John put his thumb on Paul’s nub simultaneously, combing the sensations.

Paul let out delicious moans, sliding through John’s head like honey. Paul could never hold back when it came to that nub. Paul must be embarrassed about it, but John knew that his words wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Paul just refused to listen to him.

The whole issue for Paul was the very fact that John was hearing the noises he made, giving him the satisfaction of that. Despite the pleasurable sensations being sent to him, Paul got disgust from each and every one, having to feel these positive sensations form this _cunt_ . It would be one thing if John had just fucked him, but he seemed fixated on making Paul _enjoy_ it.

“Ready, Paul?” John sucks.

Paul shook his head vigorously.

“It won’t hurt, Paul. It only hurts the first time.”

John was still rubbing his nub, a bit slower, his finger still inside him.

John took his finger out, and held both Paul’s knees from underneath, preparing to enter him.

Seeing that cunt again, poking out from between Paul’s pressed together thighs made him want to eat it out all over again. John was completely fixated on it, no food as salivating. He held Paul’s legs up with one hand, using the other to swipe one more taste of his arousal.

“Christ, Paul.” He said, savoring the taste.

John closed in, planning to enter Paul for the second time. Paul had resigned to his fate more or less, sadly looking up at the ceiling. What could he do? He would just be John’s plaything until he died. No woman would have him. Paul brought his elbow over his face, crying silently against his forearm.

“Don’t be like that, Paul. We’ll be so happy together. Why are you so miserable for Chrissake?”

John began to get angrier.

“I’m going to take care of you. I’ll make you feel nice. I’ll take good care of our children. What’s the fuckin’ matter with you?”

John’s voice got increasingly louder as his frustration grew.

“All ya can say is ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and do yer fuckin’ cryin bullshit! I’ve been nice to ya haven’t I? I’ve made ya _cum_ , didn’t I?” 

John shoved a finger into Paul’s cunt, jerking it around, making Paul wince.

“This one fuckin’ knows what it wants! This’un fuckin loves me! S’ fucking pleased to see me, this is!”

John took his finger out just as harshly. John was full on shouting now, unleashing all his frustration at Paul’s attitude back into him. Paul cringed away, trying to get back. John still had a hand on his knees, gripping very tightly now as Paul tried to on them.

“Why d’you act like m’gonna fuckin hit ya? M’not gonna fuckin hit ya! Do ya know how fuckin’ shit it is to be sent this sigh, jus’ fer you to act like ya fuckin’ hate me? S’fuckin bullshit!”

John was jerking Paul’s body with each sentence. Paul was too heavy to jerk around, but it still conveyed the same message.

“M’ fuckin sick of yer shit! Why aren’t ya fuckin happy? You should be fuckin happy!”

John breathed angrily, glaring and bunching up his fists in front of a cowering Paul. He was holding himself again, arms braced over the top of his head.

Paul had never reacted like this before. He was too prideful. He never went down without a fight. Despite his features he could dish it out just as well as take it in. He could hold his own.

This was a different side of Paul. Empty, sorrowful. He’d all but given up, just trying to maintain the little dignity he had left. He’d not only grown a cunt, but his closest friend had turned on him, obsessed with the idea of fucking it. He had no one to turn to and no way out.

John grew regretful as Paul just lay there trembling. He’d done it again. His eyebrows drew, trying to do damage control.

“No, no, stop it, Paul. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry Paul. Please don’t be afraid.” He tried to make his voice soft again.

Paul ignored him, only flinching when he began speaking again.

John rubbed his thigh. Paul just kept shaking.

“S’alright Macca, s’alright.” John said. “I’ll be good to ya now. It won’t hurt this time.”

Hearing the endearment just made Paul sadder. It reminded him of a better time, when he was bubbly and lustful, ready to take on the world. That version of himself had died now. He also mourned the old John, his other friends who would never do a thing to hurt him. He didn’t trust any of them now. All Paul could do was curl into himself and wait for things to be over.

John entered him slowly. It didn’t cause him pain like yesterday, but it didn’t feel nice either. It was an intrusion, stretching out his organ. It felt wrong inside him. Too hot and hard, worming its way into a hole that shouldn’t be there. Paul clenched around it. Every bit of it was alien and uncomfortable.

John’s intent gaze on his face didn’t help either. The damn infatuation and sexual obsession had taken over his friend. John thought he was in love, or lust, or whatever, but it wasn’t real. None of it was.

John was convinced this was supposed to be, ignoring the clear signs otherwise. There was no getting through to him. John said he wanted to make him feel nice, make it good for him, but all Paul wanted was to be left alone. If John really still had love for him, he would do that, or better yet support him during this.

“You feel so nice, Paul.” He said tenderly, in that harsh voice of his. John was trying to be very gentle, trying to make up for his outbursts, but that wouldn’t help things at all. Paul was still terrified of him.

John stroked Paul’s cheek, ran a hand down his neck, down the side of his chest. It was all awful. John’s fingers were rough from the guitar callousness. He pulled at Paul’s soft pubic hair, playing with it, feeling the softness between his fingers.

Paul covered his face with his wrists, trying to disassociate from it all. John pulled his hands back, telling him not to hide away.

John had wrapped his arms around Paul’s body, holding him closer. Paul closed his eyes, not wanting to look at John’s face. John was placing kisses on his cheeks, on his mouth. Didn’t he realize the faux tenderness was only making it worse? Paul wanted John to hurry up and finish already. Leave him alone.

“Fuckin’ stop it!” Paul cried. “Jus’ get herself off already so I can go!”

John was taken aback. Insulted. He grew more and more pained as Paul continued to reject him. It hurt him. John had been harsh, he’d been gentle, but Paul just repelled himself from him. Why? Why did Paul have to be this way? It was all wrong.

John listened regardless, picking up the pace. Paul’s warm knees rested against either side of his body, his cunt inviting as ever. If Paul wanted to be ravished, so be it.

John went at his own speed, fucking Paul much harder. To his delight, the harsh pace forced sweet pained noises out of Paul. He’d prefer Paul to make happy noises, but it was better than the silence with sobs peppered in.

John neared his release, Paul’s sad but lovely face giving him most of his pleasure.

“I love you, I love you I love you,” John raved like a madman, as he got close, placing harsh kisses on Paul’s lips, around them. He wasn’t too preoccupied with hitting the target “beautiful, beautiful beautiful, Paul!”

It was all nonsense. Paul knew John didn’t love him. He was mad.

John stared at his face amorously. He looked happy, but it was all superficial. Paul could only look back with sad eyes.

John cupped Paul’s face between his palms. John was being so nice, but Paul still looked so sad. 

It was alright. Paul would be happy again soon. John considered tickling him again, just to see Paul smile as he came inside him, but he reconsidered, not wanting to get hit in the face so close to his orgasm.

John’s vision blurred as it neared, trying to imagine what Paul would look like happy, smiling up at him as they made love. It should have been that way from the beginning.

When John had figured out his purpose yesterday, Paul should’ve been happy, the burden of not knowing being lifted from his shoulders. John would’ve deflowered him that night, their first union being a joyous one. It would hurt at first, but John would comfort him through it. Paul would have a relaxed smile, cheeks bunching up, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his deep hazel eyes looked into his.

When John had finished yesterday, Paul had been crying, hyperventilating at the thought of carrying John’s child. John had shushed him and stroked his stomach, but all Paul did was cringe away and wail louder. John was very distraught, unable to console him as Paul cried himself into a fitful sleep. Their first night together should’ve been a happy one, them finally coming together as one. He should’ve held Paul as his seed took hold, creating a beautiful new life. It was all so wrong.

John tried to rewrite the memory in his head, the way the night should have gone. Paul’s silly smile, nose wrinkling, his deep sounds and laughs, enjoying it as much as John did.

John came inside again, deaf to Paul’s pleas otherwise. God it was humiliating, worrying about pregnancy like a bird. He didn’t know if it was possible, but that’s what he thought about waking up with a cunt. God he hoped it wasn’t possible.

He supposed that was a hat John wanted. To impregnate him in some sort of screwed up “union”. Paul was sickened at the idea, something so unnatural happening to his body, causing him pain and sickness, a _thing_ growing inside him. He couldn’t let that happen. Just thinking about it made him want to claw at his skin.

John’s fluid released into him, hot, violent, plentiful. He stayed on top of Paul for a long time, softening inside him. John stroked his hair, and whispered kind things in his ear, trying his best to make him feel better. He gently caressed Paul’s back where his hands wrapped around him.

Eventually, John fell asleep. Paul removed himself from under him, slowly, carefully, as to not wake him up. Paul cringed at feeling John’s fluid run down his leg. He took a very hot shower, rubbing at his skin violently, trying to escape the feeling of John’s hands on him. As much as Paul hated touching his cunt, he tried to get all of John’s release out of himself.

Paul got dressed and put on his coat. He knew he shouldn’t because of his recognizability, but he walked through the dark streets. He needed to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To address some things that came up:  
> •This is not intended to be a comment on anything LGBT. I am not heterosexual.  
> •I do not condone these actions, nor do I think the actual John would go this far  
> •I’m not making Paul a girl for some heteronormative fantasy  
> •This won’t harm any of the actual people in this story nor their families, as they will never read it.
> 
> A lot of people seem mad about writing non-con itself. The warning is there. Do not read it. 
> 
> I guess I’m sort of venting about things that have happened to me. It’s a fucked up story but I’ve got no malicious intent.
> 
> (I just got a 600 word comment telling me what I coward I am lol. Apparently they screenshot the deleted comments. Like, get a hobby, man idc)


	3. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

  
  


True to his word, John didn’t take any women up to their rooms anymore. Nearly every night, he would get himself alone with Paul and sleep with him. He’d always make sure to cum deep inside him. He never gave up the obsessive desire for Paul to enjoy it, never giving up that Paul would come around. John had it so ingrained in his head that he was in the right.

  
  


After a couple months, Paul began to get splitting headaches. He’d lie in bed and hold his temples. At least John would leave him alone then.

Paul was in denial, but he was beginning to think John’s sick fantasy had come to fruition.

He noticed he had gained the slightest amount of weight. The moment Paul saw it when looking in the mirror, he blacked out, regaining consciousness with his friends all around him, worried, holding him back. Paul had strands of his hair in his balled up fists.

The only way to keep his sanity was intense denial. Paul ignored it, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He tried to not even look down.

He’d never tell John. Fuck him.

It wasn’t long John found out though. John would sleep with him, and see him without any clothing to cover it up. One night John took notice of the slight weight Paul had put on. It wasn’t very noticeable yet, but there was a visible change.

A crazed grin grew on John’s face, putting a hand to Paul’s navel. He began to laugh and get emotional, tearing up. He kissed Paul’s face over and over.

It was horrible, that fucking smile. Looking at him with such happiness whilst Paul was living in his own personal hell. Paul could only look at him miserably.

John didn’t sleep with him that night, only held Paul’s limp body to his and cried happy tears. He kissed Paul’s hands and face again, empty words of admiration and excitement. Paul wanted to claw off his skin.

To make matters worse, John fixated on him even harder now. He would sleep with him less, but Paul felt more suffocated than ever. John kept a close watch on him, never letting him out of his sight, even more controlling of his actions. He was making sure Paul won’t do anything rash. It wasn’t like he was going out anyway, but John made sure no alcohol made it past Paul’s lips.

The way John was treating him now could be considered gentle, but it was all wrong. He treated Paul like he was made of glass, giving him only light touches. He was way too affectionate. John used to treat him like any other of their friends, like a man, but being treated like a delicate woman now made him feel even worse about his condition. He never wanted any of this. If only he could relive his life before. None of it felt real, it was like a waking nightmare.

John kept fussing over him. Even when they were not alone, John’s eyes would follow him around the room. He not only gazed at him with hunger now, but affection. It wasn’t real. None of it was real.

As the weeks went by, it was becoming difficult to button his trousers. The first time Paul couldn’t, he’d blacked out again. He was screaming as two of his friends held him down, trying to keep Paul from harming himself and others. He shook in their hold when he came to his senses, covering his face. His body was betraying him. He tried his best to ignore it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Paul had seen a tabloid a few days back. It was a photo of him performing, calling out the slight weight he’d put on. To the uninformed observer, it just seemed like Paul was letting himself go. They had no reason to suspect otherwise. 

Paul’s heart dropped the moment he saw it, and he locked himself away for the night. His friends had seen the article, and tried to console him, telling him the paper was just being cruel, that they were just desperate for content. His friends didn’t understand the full scope of it.

Paul was over crying and panicking. He just felt empty. John came by later and tried to speak to him through the door. He said Paul was still beautiful, that he was growing a new soul inside of him.

Couldn't John see that wasn’t even close to the issue? If anything, Paul’s beauty was his downfall. Every night he wished he was born with a different face. He wasn’t a fucking woman. He didn’t want these delicate features. First the press mocked him for it, and now the universe, giving him this cunt.

John kept trying to console him through the door, but it fell on deaf ears. Paul’s face was buried in his hands, nothing in his mind but radio silence.

By the fifth month, John had demanded an end to their touring. It wasn’t a popular decision, but John full on refused to play. 

His other friends weren’t too perturbed, they were getting sick of it as well. It was like all the fans came just to scream and lose their minds rather than listen to them play. They had also noticed Paul’s erratic behavior. They had the similar thought that John had at first, that Paul was just cracking under the pressure.

Despite it all, Paul was sad to stop touring. Performing was all he had. It was a momentary distraction from his horrible predicament, the excitement and cheers making him feel real again. It was like all of this hadn’t even happened. Paul knew the end was inevitable as he continued to get bigger.

The worst of it came when the thing began to move inside of him. It was like a parasite, taking his energy and health. 

John started to fuss over his stomach when he first felt it move. John talked to it and touched him, trying to feel it again. Paul blocked it all out, trying to distance himself from the situation. John had told him “You’ll know it’s yours the second you set eyes on it. I’ll love you both so much.”

It was so wrong of him to be so happy while with each passing day Paul became even more desolate. He needed to be constantly aware of that thing’s presence, it’s movements and weight that he constantly had to carry around.

At least John wasn’t rough with him. He had resigned to wait patiently until Paul came around, which he still believed would happen. As he progressed, John wouldn't push him to sleep with him every night. John would just talk to him as Paul sat there, staring off into the distance with lidded eyes. John would talk about how happy they would be when the day finally came. That he would never leave Paul or the child. He tried to get Paul to tell him which names he would like, but Paul would never respond, never acknowledge it.

Paul had loved children, but he didn’t see the thing inside him as one. It was just a parasite, the source of his misery. It was actively hurting him, making him sick and taking his energy. All John could talk about was how beautiful it all was.

John would put his head to Paul’s stomach to hear it move. He’d kiss the protrusion and talk to it. Paul only looked elsewhere, miles away. He didn’t care much anymore. All he could do was dread the day it would come into the world. John couldn’t understand that despite how nice, how kind he thought he was being to Paul, it would never make it better. He was the reason behind Paul’s deep misery. John grinned up at him whenever Paul’s eyes unconsciously wandered over to him. John kissed his face, touched his body, stroked his hair. None of it was comforting. None of it made it better.

There came a time where Paul had trouble moving as well as he’d like. John would tend to him as he laid in bed, dreading each new day. It wouldn’t be long now.

John brought him food and wiped his forehead as if he were ill. He’d sing to the child at night, asking Paul to do the same. John told him the child could hear him now, and already loved him. Paul just looked down at him sadly.

John was with him for longer as the deadline neared. Paul had though he was over the panicking, but he was in a constant stake of distress. At any moment it could happen, making him experience the worst pain of his life. 

John would read to him, and like the entirety of it, tried to make him happy about it. John was completely delusional, oblivious to how horrible he was for doing this to him. He would tell Paul: “It’ll be worth it when you hold it in your arms. It’ll hurt but I’ll be here. We’ll love it so much, Paul. You won’t need to be sad anymore.”

It would kick Paul in the ribs. It moved so much now. It wanted to be out, and Paul wanted it to be out.

It wasn’t fair to the child. It wasn’t its fault it had to be brought into the world with such misery and resentment. It was a part of Paul, and didn’t deserve to be hated. Paul only hated it had to be this way, that he was giving John the satisfaction of living out his fantasy.

Paul had thought his first child would be a joyous occasion. He did want one someday, but not right now, and not like this.

He wondered if he had any other children out there come to think of it. He wasn’t very diligent with protection considering all the women he’d been with. He nearly had to marry Dot because of it. If she hadn’t miscarried, he would be married with a kid like John was. Did he cause this to happen to any other women? He’d been accused, but Brian paid them off regardless of the authenticity. Maybe he did have kids out there who would grow up without a father.

A horrible thought accrued to him. Would John make him go through this again? He wouldn’t be able to survive a second time. Paul buried that thought deep.

They were still writing their songs. Even without touring, their fan base remained vigilant. When Paul couldn’t play anymore, they hired a session man to play base in the studio. According to John, Paul was sick, needing bed rest to recover, but he would be fine.

Paul’s lack of appearances had made some fans come up with an outlandish theory that he had died last November, being hit by a car, and that the government was covering it up.

His friends had come by to visit him. They were justly concerned, but had no way of deducing the real truth. Paul kept his condition hidden under the duvet.

Paul got comfort from seeing them dispute his disenchantment. Despite feeling sorry for his illness, they treated him the same as always, unaware of the horrible turn his life took. Paul had only John to speak to otherwise, who happened to be the cause of his misery. John hadn’t raised his voice or threatened him, but the saccharine sweet words and fussing wasn’t much better.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


One night Paul awoke in horrible pain. It appeared the time had finally come.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the story’s done now.


End file.
